Free Governing Passion by Don Gutteridge Page A

to
show me the gloves you normally wear when you go out in this
weather.”
    “What are you driving at? I’ve already told
you I didn’t lose a glove three nights ago.”
    “Then you won’t mind showin’ me the ones you didn’t lose.”
    “I have several pairs the same. But since you
insist, I’ll humour you. But I shall have to report your behaviour
to your superior, Mr. Bagshaw.”
    “I’ll wait,” Cobb said.
    Pugh left the room and came back several
minutes later. He had a pair of leather gloves in his hand. He
thrust them at Cobb. Cobb took the glove he had found in the alley
out of his other pocket. He examined it closely, next to the ones
given him by Pugh.
    “You see,” Pugh said, “I have a matched
pair.”
    “But this one I brought is exactly the same
kind of glove,” Cobb said. “Somewhere you’ve got the missin’
mate.”
    Pugh leaned forward and put both hands on the
library table, seething with anger.
    “You were in that alley where Sally Butts was
killed,” Cobb said, “and you were loose in Devil’s Acre about the
time that Sarie Hickson was comin’ back from her appointment –
”
    “Oh, damn it, all right!” Pugh cried
suddenly. “I was near the alley where Sally was killed! Are you
satisfied?”
    “I see,” Cobb said, as surprised as he was
happy that he had elicited this admission. “But you didn’t kill the
girl?”
    “Of course, I didn’t, you fool! I was
infatuated with her. Besotted with her.” He drew a deep breath and
said, “I was at the near end of the alley. I saw Sally towards the
far end. And there was between us a huge man in a black overcoat
wearing enormous boots. I saw him go up behind her and grab her
around the chest. I cried out and ran towards her. The dark figure
continued on up the alley and disappeared around the corner. I went
to Sally. Her throat had been slashed. She was dying. I panicked. I
thought I might be accused of killing her because everybody at the
brothel knew I was obsessed with her. I ran back the way I came and
sneaked off home by another route.”
    “So the killer was a tall man with large
boots?”
    “And a fur hat.”
    “And you’re sure this ain’t yer scarf?”
    Pugh shook his head. Cobb was almost inclined
to believe him. Certainly his description of the killer fitted with
the bootprints and their size. It didn’t seem probable that Pugh
was making all this up. And Pugh, as a discreet glance at the
fellow’s feet confirmed, had fairly small feet. Still, he wasn’t
fully in the clear as far as Cobb was concerned. The extra big
boots could have been worn by anybody. But he realized he was not
going to get anything more out of the man this day. He had a lot
though. He was pretty certain he now knew what the killer looked
like.
    He left quietly, avoiding Smithers.
    ***
    Carswell, Gardiner Clough’s butler, was not
standoffish at all. He seemed to be expecting Cobb, for he ushered
him straight in. Then, ignoring the main hall, he took him by a
roundabout route to the kitchen, where Clough, angular and
haggard-looking, was sitting beside the stove.
    “Why the secrecy?” Cobb said, coming over,
removing his coat and helmet, and sitting on a wooden chair
opposite Clough.
    “The wife,” Clough said.
    Cobb had found out a little about Clough from
Bagshaw, who took it upon himself to know what needed to be known
about his betters. Clough had once been an active barrister, but
had married rich and was living nicely off his wife’s income. And,
Cobb assumed, she would not approve of his peccadilloes.
    “I just need to ask you a few questions about
Sarie Hickson,” Cobb said.
    “I thought you might. I heard about her death
an hour ago. It came as a terrible shock, as you can imagine.
Especially coming so soon after poor Sally.”
    “She was killed the same way and by the same
person who killed Sally Butts.”
    “Then you’ve got to catch him, don’t you,
before he kills again.”
    “You can help us with that,